


The Truest Test Is When We Cannot See

by faithharkness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithharkness/pseuds/faithharkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester spends his life debunking supposed supernatural ‘sightings’.  His brother Sam has a little more faith.</p><p>A Victorian-era AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truest Test Is When We Cannot See

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an AU Bingo Challenge on LJ.
> 
> I fully and freely admit that Dean’s vision of angels having the one wing tipped in blood and humans ever wanting to see an angel is paraphrased from _The Prophecy_. And if you haven’t seen that film, you are missing a **_great_** fount of angelic and rabbinical mythology. And it’s a **_damn_** good descriptor of angels. Plus, Viggo Mortensen as Lucifer; which is one of the **best** interpretations of Lucifer ever put on film (and yes, I love the Lucifer of the later films because he is biblically logical to the max).
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Jane Siberry's _It Can't Rain All the Time_

Dean Winchester sat in the back row of the dim room, trying to find a comfortable position in the uncomfortable chair. He looked around at his fellow attendees, recognizing several of them and wondering idly how Sam had managed to draw such a crowd.

“Which brings me to the reason you all decided to attend,” Sam Winchester said, his face as earnest as Dean had ever seen it.

Dean noticed that several of the attendees sat forward in anticipation. He couldn’t help but copy the movement. It was, after all, what had drawn him in, putting him in the same room as his brother for the first time in six years.

“I have incontrovertible, photographic proof that angels exist,” he said, showing his next slide.

The room erupted in questions.  
*****

Sam packed up his slides, photos and notes, a sense of satisfaction making him smile.

“Good show, Sammie.”

His good feeling evaporated as he straightened and faced the speaker. “It’s Samuel. _Sammie_ is a dimpled child chasing after his big brother. Samuel is a respected researcher and speaker.”

“Respect—? Sam, you just made a two-hour presentation on _angels_!”

“Dean, I’m perfectly cognizant of your lack of faith in anything beyond what you can see and touch. But I believe. I have faith. And now, I have proof.”

“‘Proof’? Sam, you have some blurry photos of a guy who stole some theater props and strapped them to his back!”

“Theater props? In the middle of a sacred circle in the woods?”

“Exactly! A circle sacred to Druids. They didn’t even believe in angels.”

“For someone with no faith, you certainly know an awful lot about it,” Sam said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Know thy enemy, Sam. If I’m going to debunk all these quacks, I need to know where they’re coming from.”

“Is that what I am now? A quack?”

Dean sighed. “Of course not. But I do think you’ve been hoodwinked.”

“He’s real, Dean.”

“I’m sure he’s very convincing, Sam.”

Sam slammed his case closed. “Damn it, Dean! I’m not some idiot. I know how to spot a hoax. This guy’s the real deal.”

“Then you won’t mind giving me the details so I can make my own determination.”

Sam sighed. “Fine. Let’s go have dinner at my club.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “My, my, how you’ve come up in the world. Your club.”

“Follow me.”

“Do they have pie?”  
*****

“ _Castiel_? Really, Sam, that’s the best he could do?” Dean asked around a mouthful of pie.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, lifting his glass of claret.

“I mean, if you’re going to be an angel, why not claim one of the biggies? Michael, Raphael or Gabriel?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, because claiming to be one of the archangels wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”

“It may not arouse suspicion, but it means the guy has a lot of time on his hands. I mean, who digs up the angel of Thursday, for crying out loud?”

“Exactly! He has to be real. And how do you know that off the top of your head?”

Dean shrugged and reached for his whiskey. “Angels are big right now for some reason. I’ve been putting some hours in with Bobby.”

“How is Bobby?”

“He’s fine, Sam. Very glad that the whole vampire craze is over for the time being. Freaking Stoker.”

“You know, I heard—”

“Not interested, Sammie. Now, about this Castiel guy…”  
*****

Dean wondered, and not for the first time, why debunking had to necessarily mean he had to freeze his balls off. He really needed to start debunking in another country. Maybe Barbados.

He shook his head and stared around the woods, lifting his lantern a little higher. He briefly wished he had brought a torch with him; fire had so very many good uses—as did a solid stick.

He marched closer to where the sacred circle from Sam’s picture was located. Sam had said Castiel would be here tonight—and really, where else would he be on a Thursday night but in a circle sacred to Druids?

“It is sacred to many,” said a low voice from behind him.

“Shit!” Dean said, spinning around and pulling up his revolver.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean let out the breath he was holding, but didn’t lower the gun. He studied the man in front of him. He was dressed much like Dean was—and with no wings in sight. Although his dark hair did look wind-mussed. “You must be Castiel.”

“I am,” he said, blue eyes staring into hazel.

“And you know my name, so Sam must have warned you I would be coming.”

“He didn’t have to warn me, Dean. I knew you would find me eventually.”

Dean tilted his head to the side. “Divine knowledge?”

“Yes.”

He laughed out loud. “You really have this whole angel of the Lord thing down, don’t you?”

“It is not a ‘thing’, Dean. I _am_ an angel of the Lord.”

Dean leaned against the nearest tree. “So I’ve been told. But there’s something missing…”

Castiel took a step forward. “And that would be?”

“You showed Sam your wings; let me see them.”

“Samuel caught me in a moment of transition. I didn’t know he was there and I was not prepared for that apparatus he had.”

“But you’re an angel. Aren’t you guys supposed to be omnipotent?”

“Only God is omnipotent, Dean.”

Dean snorted.

“Samuel said you did not believe,” he said, studying Dean.

“Oh, you talked to Sammie, did you?”

Castiel frowned. “There was something interesting about him.”

“That’s Sam—interesting,” Dean replied, lowering his weapon.

“I shouldn’t have found him interesting.”

“He does tend to use big words that set people off. Boy’s brain is bigger than it should be, even for his huge body.”

Castiel’s frown deepened. “You do not understand.”

Dean straightened, his entire demeanor hardening. “Make no mistake; if there is one thing in this world I understand, it’s Sam.”

Castiel shook his head. “Not Sam. You do not understand what is happening.”

“Enlighten me,” Dean challenged.

Castiel smiled. It had been a long time since he had been challenged by a human who was worthy of said challenge. “What do you know of angels?” he questioned.

Dean snorted. “What _don’t_ I know?”

“Far less than I am sure you think you do. Tell me, Dean; what do you **_know_**?”

Dean smirked. “I know that you like to portray yourselves as fluffy, good examples of light. Fluffy dove wings with bright, shining halos to show us mere humans the way to eternal bliss.”

Castiel waited.

“But that’s not angels. That’s what humans desperately want to _perceive_ of angels,” Dean said, holding Castiel’s gaze the entire time. “But if they read their bibles, they would know that angels are warriors; assassins. They carry out the orders of God. They are the reapers of souls and the judgers of sin. Angels are not soft, fluffy creatures that comfort widows and orphans. _Real_ angels have one wing forever tipped in blood. If humans were smart, they would never really want to meet an angel. If an angel actually appeared to them, they would run until their lungs bled. And when they couldn’t go any farther, they would squeeze their eyes shut and pray death would take them before they had to lay eyes on their pursuer.”

Castiel bowed his head. “Perhaps you do know,” he said, then disappeared.  
*****

Dean returned to the circle the next three nights, cursing both his curiosity and tenacity. The first night, he told himself he got there before sundown solely to look for clues to Castiel’s disappearing act. It had to be an act—mirrors or something. He hadn’t found anything that supported any hypothesis other than Castiel had _actually_ just disappeared. He had gotten drunk that night in an attempt to drown the warm feeling in his chest at the thought that Castiel just might be the real thing.

The second night, Dean didn’t bring anything with him that he hadn’t had on him the night he met Castiel. Not that he thought Castiel would be offended by Dean trying to expose him. Dean was pretty sure Castiel was so deep in his own mythology that he really believed he _was_ an angel.

The third night, Dean found himself chanting, “Come on, come on, come on. Where are you?” under his breath in a rhythm that was uncomfortably close to prayer.

On the morning of the fourth night, Dean swallowed his pride and went to see Sam.  
*****

“Did you only see him that one time?” Dean asked Sam.

“Who?” Sam asked, his attention on the photographs in front of him.

“Castiel.”

Sam looked up at him and smirked. “Calling him Castiel now, are we? Not just some quack with a taste for the dramatic?”

“So, just the one time, then?”

“Yes. I saw him, managed to snap a picture and then he disappeared.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“Cut the feigned indignance, Sammie.”

“Indignity,” Sam absently corrected.

“ _Indignity_. Castiel said he found you interesting. I don’t imagine he could get that impression just from having his photograph taken. So spill, Sam,” Dean said, grinning. He settled himself into the chair across Sam’s desk and propped his booted feet on it.

Sam glared as he retrieved a few photos from beneath Dean’s boot. “We may have exchanged a few words.”

“About?”

Sam shrugged.

Dean sighed. “Look, _Sam_ , either you tell me or I’m going to start guessing increasingly embarrassing topics.”

Sam glared at him.

“Women’s shoes?”

Nothing.

“The appropriate length of one’s toga? You know, so you don’t show the good china when you sit.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest.

“The alchemical uses of an angel’s wing feather?”

“How is that embarrassing?”

Dean leaned forward and leered. “It all depends on what you have to do to _get_ the feather.”

“He’s an _angel_ , Dean! That’s disgusting! And illegal!”

“I just meant you might have to submit to some sort of examination or confess your darkest sin. _You_ went the illegal route.”

Sam blushed.

“So, what did you talk about?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, really. He asked me about life. What I did, how I lived it. I think he wanted to know if anyone took the Word seriously in this day and age.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him about my life. About you and Mom and Dad.”

“You talked to an angel about me?” Dean whistled. “ _That_ must have convinced him no one’s following the Word.”

Sam shook his head. “He seemed equal parts intrigued and saddened. I told him he could teach us so much. His brow furrowed and he disappeared. It wasn’t until the next morning that it even occurred to me to check the film in the camera.”

“And lo, a lecture tour was born.”

“Funny. Why the interest in my interactions with Castiel?”

“You didn’t wonder why that one statement caused him to leave?”

“I figured he had better things to do.”

Dean looked at Sam askance.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ve gotta go,” Dean said, standing.

“An assignation?”

“Something like that. I’ll see you later, Sam.”  
*****

“What the hell do you want the Book of Enoch for?” Bobby demanded.

“Do you have a copy handy or not?” Dean said.

“Not until you tell me why you want it. There’s a lot of dangerous knowledge in there.”

“That’s why I want it!”

“Now, now, Bobby. The boy seems old enough to handle the dark truths of the world,” came a cultured voice from a corner of the room.

Dean whirled around, revolver raised, as the man came toward him.

“Damn it, Crowley!” Bobby said.

Crowley merely raised an eyebrow at Bobby. “An apropos choice of words.”

“Who are you?” Dean asked.

“Crowley. I’m an old friend of Bobby’s.”

“I know all of Bobby’s old friends, as he practically raised my brother and me. Try again.”

Crowley inclined his head. “Perhaps I misspoke. I am a friend of Bobby’s who is old,” he said, and his eyes darkened to pitch black.

“ _What_ are you?”

“Demon.”

Dean looked at Bobby, his expression nothing short of incredulous. “How could you?”

“There is a lot you don’t know, Dean. A lot of things I’ve had to do to protect this family.”

“ _Such_ self-sacrifice,” Crowley tsked.

“Shut up,” Dean and Bobby said in unison.

Crowley sniffed the air. “Hmm… _someone_ smells of dried blood and righteousness.”

“I am warning you, Crowley,” Bobby growled.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and grinned. “It seems it’s time for me to be leaving this town as it is. Until we meet again, Mr. Singer,” he said, then seemed to fade into the shadows.

“I seem to be meeting a lot of people who can disappear at will lately. Care to explain why?” Dean asked, settling himself in a chair with a calm that didn’t reach beneath the surface.

“How’s your Shakespeare, Dean?”  
*****

Dean was sitting in his favorite pub. It was down near the docks. The whisky was watered down unless the bartender knew you. Dean knew every bartender in London.

“I don’t believe there is a single prostitute in London who hasn’t propositioned me tonight,” Sam said as he sat down beside Dean.

“Then why are you here?” Dean replied. “I assure you you’ll get no such appealing offers here.”

“I went to see Bobby. He said you were angry when you left.”

Dean snorted into his glass. 

“Does this have anything to do with Castiel?”

“Castiel. Fairies. Demons. All the things in the darkness.” He finally turned and looked at his brother. “And you. What the hell is the matter with you?”

Sam looked around to see if Dean’s outburst had drawn any attention. The crowd seemed to be sticking to their own business.

“What Mom and Dad would have wanted,” Sam hissed.

Dean’s gaze darkened. “You _know_.”

“Only recently. I found Dad’s journal while I was looking through Bobby’s library. I asked him about it and he finally told me the truth.”

Dean tossed back his drink and signaled for another one. _The truth_ , he thought harshly. He and Sam had grown up orphans since their parents had been killed when Dean and Sam were children. Bobby, their guardian and honorary uncle, had raised them. Sam and Dean had grown up believing their parents had died in a tragic accident. When Dean was 17, Bobby had confessed, after a bitter argument and far too much whisky, that Dean’s parents had been murdered. According to Bobby, they had made their living investigating and, more often than not, debunking various supernatural sightings. A group of townsfolk who blamed the Winchesters for the problems in their little town had set fire to their cabin with the Winchesters inside. It had been blind luck that the boys had been with Bobby and his wife for a visit. Dean had taken up his parents’ cause with a fiery vengeance after that, wanting to continue their work. Bobby had made Dean swear he would never go to where his parents had died. At the sheer sadness in Bobby’s eyes, Dean had made the vow and kept it. Bobby would give Dean leads and Dean would go investigate, expose and move on.

What Dean hadn’t known until tonight was that for every ‘lead’ Bobby gave him, there were actual supernatural beings and occurrences that Bobby sent someone else out to take care of. Someone like his own parents had been.

And Sammie _knew_.

“So you know the truth. And what, decided to take up the family business? Hunting?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t hunt, Dean. Not like Mom and Dad did. I’m more interested in the things that aren’t out to kill humans. The things that may be willing to help protect us.”

“You need better research on angels, then, Sammie. They don’t care about us. They care about the Word and their orders.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No? I spent some cozy time with the Book of Enoch today, Sam. The consequences of caring about anything else are pretty awful if you’re an angel.”

“Then why do you think Castiel is here if not to help?”

Dean finished his fresh drink in one go. “I don’t know. But it’s time I found out,” he said, standing up.

“Hey!” the bartender yelled.

“He’s paying,” Dean said over his shoulder as he left.  
*****

“I know you’re out there. And I know you can probably hear me. So either you show yourself or I go to Bobby and get one of his many books. I’ll try a ritual to bring you here—which I will probably botch spectacularly because I’ve never done it before—and will most likely call forth something that is _not_ you. So it’s really safer for the entire world if you just _show up_!” Dean shouted.

It took a few moments, but the air stirred in the circle of stones and then, in the blink of an eye, Castiel stood before him.

“Dean.”

“It’s real. It’s all really real. _You’re_ really real.”

“And you are not—how did you put it?—running until your lungs bleed.”

Dean cracked a smile at that. “I don’t exactly have as much common sense as your average human. Ask anyone.”

Castiel merely inclined his head.

“Sammie didn’t mean anything by saying you could teach us things. He only meant that you could show people God exists and help us in our troubled times. He didn’t mean for you to _teach_ us anything. You know, like skills or warfare.”

“You’ve done your reading.”

“Yeah. Seems to me the Grigori got disproportionately punished for that.”

“Uriel was quite upset with his brethren.”

“Uriel sounds like kind of a dick.”

“He did what he was told; but perhaps he was a little harsh in his interpretation. Our brethren found their charges intriguing and wanted to know more, despite what they were told.”

“Still.”

“And their folly is a lesson for all of us. Now we know what a danger you are. We know the warning signs, that we may prevent a similar fate.”

Dean snorted. The sound cut off when Castiel narrowed his gaze.

“Sorry,” Dean said.

“I can’t find you interesting.”

“And here I thought you enjoyed our chats.”

“You don’t understand. I do find you interesting; but I can’t find you interesting,” he said, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh. Why is that?”

“It is forbidden.”

“What? Finding someone interesting?”

“Finding humans interesting. It is the first indication of…”

“Of?” Dean prompted.

“Falling,” Castiel breathed, desperate.

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Castiel nodded.

“So we can’t keep this up? Be friends. Because I’ve got to tell you, there are a lot of horrible things out there. Things that humans need to be protected from. And I’ll just bet you are a fount of information when it comes to that.”

“I suppose if I am helping you defeat minions of the dark, then we may continue our conversations.”

“Good. Can you show up anywhere or do we have to talk here? Winter’s coming; the weather’s gonna get lousy.”

“I will be there when you need me.”

Dean grinned. “Good. I’ll be in touch,” he said, then turned to leave.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“What changed your mind?”

“It’s the family business, Castiel. And I’ve got some serious hunting to make up for,” he said, then disappeared into the shadows.


End file.
